Years Between Us
by ColorfulWords
Summary: A few days after Harry's 18th birthday, Hermione disappears. 3 long years later, Harry seeks Hermione out for the final time, hoping she will come to his and Ginny's wedding. He finds her– but she is not alone. Canon except for 19 years later. H/Hr, eventually.
1. Chapter 1

PLOT: It's Harry's 18th birthday, so he and Hermione go out to celebrate. They both get extremely drunk and have sex. Hermione then disappears. 3 years later, Harry and Ginny are planning their wedding, and Harry wants Hermione to come. He goes on a trip to find her and is really surprised when she is not alone.

 _ **A/N: Just a quick warning that this story is much more mature than my other Harmony story. Mostly the character and the plot is more mature, although there may be some language and some more sexual content. It may progress to the point of needing an M rating, but not yet. Please enjoy!**_

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

Dancing.

Flashing lights, pounding music, sweaty bodies.

The blurry edges of shot glass, filled with something that tasted vile but felt bubbly in her throat. She spun in a circle, the world spinning into a wash of colors, falling into his arms.

"I ggoot you a present," she slurred huskily. If possible, his hair was wilder than before. She slung her arms around his neck and pressed herself against his chest. He stumbled backwards before straightening, holding a long necked bottle in his right hand.

"YOUR HAIR IS BROWN!" he declared loudly. She giggled and put one finger against his lips, her hips swaying. She reached up and kissed him passionately, their tongues quickly entwining. He tasted like alcohol and broomstick wood and sweat. When they broke apart, they were gasping, the world closing around them.

"Yoour pressent," She grinned at him. "Happpppy birrthdaaay, Harrry."

Harry took a long drink from his bottle, his adam's apple bobbing as he downed the golden liquid. He slammed the glass down on a nearby table, and shook his head as things grew brightened and louder. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him again, pressing his lips against his.

"You taste... mhhm..." Harry mumbled, his words nearly unintelligible. And then, quickly, the scene shifted, and they were still kissing, and her back was up against the wall of the elevator, her legs around his waist. And for once in her life she did not care that people were watching, that people saw as she threw her head back in ecstasy, moaning when his tongue swept down her throat.

She was unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers unsteady as the popped buttons revealed his perfectly toned chest. Breathing heavily, he struggled to unclasp her bra as she worked on his belt. Their fingers were clumsy with drunkenness as they hurriedly undressed each other. Harry threw her back on a bed, appearing below them just as they needed it. His body felt hot against hers, and she dug her fingers into his back, pulling him closer.

"I love you, Harry," she murmured into his shoulder. "Take me."

And then they were together, as one, like they had never been before.


	2. Chapter 2

**Present Day**

 **Hermione's POV**

Hermione flipped the letter between her fingers anxiously, barely aware of the stinging paper cut she had given herself.

A horse and a stag were intertwined on the front of the card, and it was stamped closed with a swirled red and green seal. Simple, but elegant.

Despite herself, she smiled faintly.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione flicked the letter open and it zoomed happily out of hands and unfolded in the air in front of her. With a small flourish, a recognizable pair of voices sprouted from the card.

"You have been invited to the celebration of marriage between Ginevra Molly Weasley and Harry James Potter on the 5th of August this year. The ceremony will be held at the house of Arthur and Molly Weasley, at the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole. Send a reply to 12 Grimmauld Place in London– we hope to see you there!"

The letter folded itself into a tiny broomstick and flew around Hermione's head, landing back in the square center of her palm. She took a deep breath her mind whirling. She had expected it, yes, everyone had, but it seemed so soon. Had it really been 3 years since she had seen Harry?

Just thinking of his name made her stomach clench as she flashed back to that fateful night three years ago.

Without looking at it again, she threw the invitation in the rubbish bin.

 **Harry's POV**

Harry sat on the edge of the bed as the sun rose through the window. His hands were clasped under his chin, his face a frozen picture of concentration. He was topless, his tanned upper body impeccably straight from years of Auror training. His green eyes sparkled in the early morning light, and his hair, was, as always, disheveled.

A soft hand snaked up his back, gripping his shoulder. Ginny pulled herself up and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Come back to bed, Harry," she said softly into his ear. He shook his head slowly and she sighed. "You have work tomorrow, babe. So do I."

"I'll come back in a minute, Gin," he said, turning his head and pecking her cheek. "Promise."

"Maybe it didn't get to her," his fiance was now fully awake, covering herself with a lush blue bathrobe. "It has been–"

"Three years," Harry finished, his voice dull. "Three years, 302 days, approximately 4 hours."

Ginny nodded slowly. "I know, I know. I miss her."

"Me too," Harry said, surprised at the apparent vulnerability in his voice. "I just thought she might come... or write back..."

"We all did," Ginny reminded him gently. "But if Hermione doesn't want to be found, then she won't be." She piled her red hair on top of her head in a bun and sighed, before making her way downstairs for morning tea. In just a few hours, she would leave for Quidditch practice, and he would go in the opposite direction to the Ministry of Magic. They would kiss on the cheek as they did every morning, and head off to their busy days. When they came home, they would sit in the parlor together and talk about their days– she would complain about rival chaser Kit Salzman, and he would groan about the Ministry's newest privacy policies. Together, they would make dinner and tell jokes and laugh until their sides hurt. That night, they would snog and shag and they would fall asleep in each other's arms.

It was a happy life that Harry and Ginny had, and he had grown attached the familiar routine that accompanied it. After years of unexpected turmoil and pain, there was a comfort in order. But as the big day edged closer, Harry could not help but feel his life, though picture perfect, was incomplete. He fell backwards on his bed, the covers flopping around him.

Hermione had disappeared three years ago, right after Harry's 18th birthday. He and Ron had looked everywhere, but no one knew where she had gone. Owls came back with no response, or, more often, without ever reaching her. It became clear, after just a few months, that Hermione did not want to be found. Either that, or she was dead.

Harry felt a horrible pain in his chest when he thought about her, what she might be doing– why she had left.

It seemed ridiculous, after all this time, but neither Ginny nor Harry could imagine their wedding without her. It felt... empty. They had sent her four invitations, three by owl and one my muggle post (just in case), and even though they had been received by _someone_ , there had been no reply.

Harry was beginning to feel as though he would never see his best friend again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Present Day**

 **Harry's POV**

"Mr. Dipple wants to see you in his office, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked up gratefully, immediately abandoning the paperwork he had been working on. Even a meeting with Dipple would be better than the incident report he was filling out. Nodding kindly to Carla, the office secretary, he pushed his way into the busy corridor. Wizards and witches in all assortment of shapes streamed around him, some with their heads in books and some talking loudly to the person next to them. Harry caught only snippets of conversation as he made his way towards the lifts.

"Yes, Shacklebolt said so–"

"Have you seen the–"

"No, Peter promised he'd finish–

"–say something about it?"

Harry shoved himself into the already crowded lift. "Morning, Master Potter," a small voice squeaked kindly.

"Morning, Laksi," Harry said back to the house elf, who was proudly dressed in her very own button down blue and grey coat. Despite the "elf freedom movement" of a few years earlier, most of the creatures were content to continue to work in the ministry for a meager pay.

"4?" Laksi said, a spindly finger hovering over the glowing control panel. Harry nodded, and she added 4 to the list of 1, 2, 5, and 8. The lift jerked sideways momentarily, then sped further underground with a loud _whoosh_.

"How do you get used to this, Laksi?" Harry called to the elf as he tried to balance himself in the small space.

"Lots of practice, Sir!" She piped back, a broad smile stretching across her tiny face.

Three stops later, Harry bid Laksi goodbye as he left the elevator alone. He scurried forward, took a right, then two lefts. Marked upon the ornate black door were the words " _Thomas Dipple, Auror Department Head_ " in gold leaf. He steeled himself to face his surly boss before knocking on the thick door three times.

Tom Dipple was, at heart, a businessman, and it was no secret he did not like Harry Potter. While many called Harry a prodigy for his quick rise to fame in the Ministry along with the outside world, Dipple prefered the term "leech". He used it so often it had become–almost– a term of endearment. He was a stout, fat, person who strongly reminded Harry of the Dursley's. The feeling of disgust between them was mutual, and Ginny's warnings were the only things that kept Harry from hexing the man every time he opened his mouth.

As he entered the darkly lit but spacious office, Harry tried to prepare himself for the inevitable "talking to" that Dipple would give him.

"Potter," Dipple drawled, hardly looking up.

"Sir," Harry nodded.

"I'd like to talk to you about a few things. This request for recess, for example?" A thick packet of papers was thrown across the desk. "A month is rather long, don't you think?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I'm sure I've told you before, sir, but I am getting married in August."

"And?"

"And I'll need some time off. Sir."

Dipple glaced at him briefly, his dark eyes unsympathetic. "A month, leech?"

Harry paused, his blood bubbling. "Yes, sir. We plan on going on a honeymoon after the ceremony." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "To the south of France."

"Want to go abroad, eh?" Dipple cocked an eyebrow. "Well isn't that fantastic." He shuffled some forms and handed one to Harry. "Lucky you, then, that I have an assignment across the seas, eh? This can be your 'break' instead."

"Excuse me?"

Dipple waved his hand dismissively. "All in the report, leech. You may go."

Harry stared at his boss, then back at the paper stuffed into his hand. "But, sir, this is in only a few days! My wedding isn't until–"

"Move it up," Dipple said tartly. "That will be all."

"Sir, I can't just–"

"That will be _all_ , Potter!"

With a flick of Dipple's wand, Harry was shoved out the door and it slammed in his face.

"Arsehole!" He muttered, kicking the door in frustration. Harry stalked down the long corridor, his blood boiling and his fists clenched. It was just like Dipple to ruin his plans.

It wasn't that Harry really _wanted_ the big, white wedding that Ginny had planned– as long as they were both there, Harry didn't give a rat's ass if they got married in a corn field. But he'd submitted the proposal as soon as they'd set date, almost three weeks ago. Plenty of time for Dipple to clear Harry's schedule. And now he was sending him to Merlin knows where– Harry glanced angrily at the sheet in his hand.

Involuntarily, he gasped.

The assignment was located in Mackay Australia.

That was the last place Hermione had been seen.

 **Hermione's POV**

The constant heat was one thing Hermione hated about Australia. She was used to rain, even in the summertime, and abundant snows in the winter. But in Mackay, in rarely snowed. Now it was foggy and oppressive, humid despite it being the colder months of the year.

But her parents, who had always been warm-weathered people, enjoyed it immensely.

Hermione sighed, her eyes closing briefly. She remembered, as a child, loving the warm of the beach– not those in England, Merlin forbid!– but on the few trips she and her parents had gone abroad to Greece or the Canary Islands. Maybe it was age, but Hermione no longer enjoyed the sand and the sun and the water as much as she used to.

Lifting a large book from the side table, she flipped through it dismissively. Muggle books were light, fluffy and boring– even _War and Peace_ bored her. She imagined the Hogwarts library for a moment, its rows and rows of ancient sacred texts, the high, arching windows, the restricted section and its often screaming pages. Letting her mind wander, Hermione allowed herself to be enveloped in the smell of the corridors and the warm fire in the Gryffindor common room. Studying late into the night, getting hopelessly lost in the castle, visiting Hagrid, laughing with Ron and Harry– oh, god, Harry!

Hermione felt the all too familiar tugging on her heart when she thought of him. Although she rarely slipped up anymore, there had been times, especially _those_ times, when she missed him so terribly getting out of bed was impossible. There were things he would never witness– that anyone in his position should witness, normally– but there wasn't much normal about this situation, was there?


	4. Chapter 4

**Harry's POV**

"I don't care!" Ginny said, furiously throwing a pillow onto the bed. "How dare he? How fucking dare he?"

"I'm sorry, Gin," Harry said tiredly. All day he had tried to find some way around leaving his fiance, but Dipple had held firm. It was to be Harry, and Harry alone, who went to Australia to investigate a dark wizard group known only as the Shadowend.

"I ought to– ooo, I ought to go to the Ministry and hex him until he recants!" She continued, ignoring Harry. "This has to be illegal, or _something_ –"

Harry snaked two arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. "Hey, hey," he murmured into her ear. His calloused hands slipped under her shirt, feeling her taut stomach.

"Don't do that!" Ginny snapped, batting his hands away.

"Do what?"

"The sexy thing! You know I can't stand the sexy thing! How am I supposed to be mad at you when you–" Harry's hands moved up further, his fingers making contact with her bra. "Oh, Harry–!"

"Shh..." He whispered, his voice husky and low.

"Mmm–" she moaned as he chewed playfully on her ear.

"I'll only be gone for a few weeks..." Harry murmured into her ear, and she shuddered against him. He moved his left hand to her hip, fingering her jeans playfully. "You won't even miss me..." Harry grinned as one finger, then two, snuck under Ginny's waistband. Palming her breast and between her legs simultaneously, he pulled his fiance back onto the bed.

"You liar," she breathed heavily.

And just as Harry had predicted, the day ended with Ginny nestled in his arms.

But somehow Harry knew that once he went to Australia, everything would change.

 **Hermione's POV**

Hermione saw Harry everyday.

Not all of him, naturally– but his messy hair in the crowd, his slightly crooked nose at the bakery, and of course, his piercing eyes in–

There was a soft _ding–_ Hermione's phone was ringing. She hated the device; it seemed like a poor excuse for magic, but it helped her fit in.

"Yes, this is Hermione Granger."

"G'day Granga, how ya goin'? I's Pete." The severely affected Australian accent rocketed through the speaker.

"Fine, Pete."

"Ah don' suppose ya could come in today?" Her co-worker asked hopefully.

Hermione sighed, and she glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's my day off," she reminded him.

"Ah know you're busy," Pete interjected quickly. "But Barclay isn' comin' in."

"Of course she isn't," she groaned. Cara Barclay was her closest friend in Australia, but she was unreliable. Begrudgingly, she promised Pete she would come in and hung up the phone.

"Mum," Hermione called through the sunroom door. "I'm going to work." There was no response,her parents were probably out... no wonder the house was so quiet.

Hermione grabbed her bag from the hook near the doorway and immediately had a flashback to the Hunt. Merlin, why was she still using this bag? All it brought to her was pain. Pain and a very good place to store things, that was.

Shoving flats onto her narrow feet, Hermione tucked the beaded purse under her arm and headed down the quiet street. Although she could easily apparate the mile and half distance to The Wizarding Commonwealth of Australia (WICA) headquarters, she had discovered that she actually liked walking. It gave her time to think. Mostly about the past– the future, and particularly an upcoming wedding, was too painful to think about.

Her past fantasies, of course, all centered around a certain, jet-black haired boy.

And him with a certain brown-haired girl with bright green eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: BIG stuff happens in this chapter. Pay attention. :)

Harry's POV

Harry decided almost immediately he was not going to like Australia. It was too hot, too quiet, too empty, and the accents were far too odd for his liking.

But then, it had been a long time since he had been out of England. Out of his routined life with Ginny. So perhaps that was it.

Gritting his teeth and using one hand to shield his eyes from the sun, Harry wandered around a suburb of Mackay, looking for a place to stay. The downtown area, if it could even be called that, had recommended a small bed and breakfast about two miles down the road. Of course Dipple had not thought to give Harry a place to stay why he was on assignment– that would be entirely to thoughtful for such a callous man.

Lost in thought, and looking around the dusty road for the aforementioned inn, a shriek barely registered on Harry's radar. But for some reason, perhaps it was his years godfathering Teddy, Harry;s parental instinct kicked on when he realised the scream was coming from a young child.

Spinning around instantly, he cocked his head to the left and listened again. There was a gentle sobbing coming from perhaps a block away. Without a second's hesitation, Harry raced towards the sound, completely forgetting his search for a place to rest that night.

As he rounded the corner, he nearly tripped over a small, bushy-haired girl clutching her leg, with tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. Dropping to his knees, Harry took a quick glance around to confirm that no one was in the area.

Cautiously, he pulled his wand out of his back pocket and re-examined the girl. She had stopped crying now, though her cheeks were still wet, and her green eyes red and irritated. She could not have been older than three or four. Her tiny hands were clasped desperately around her left knee, and there was blood seeping from between her fingers. An abandoned scooter lay crookedly in the grass behind her.

"Okay," Harry breathed, more to himself than to the kid. "Okay, hold on, hold on. Let me see your leg, okay sweetie? Let me see and I can make it all better."

The girl refused to let go but was now staring at his wand curiously, her emerald eyes shining through long brown lashes.

"Come on now," Harry said again, more impatiently this time. How would it look for him to be in front of a small child he did not know, holding a wand? No matter who found them, it wouldn't look good. Reaching his calloused hands towards hers, he pried her fingers off the wound and furrowed his eyebrows, complexed.

It was nearly healed.

What had clearly been a gaping hole in her leg just a few seconds ago was now a fading pink line, which, before Harry's very eyes, disappeared, as if by...

"Magic," Harry breathed, looking over the small child again. Clearly, she must be a witch, and, judging by the looks of it, already quite talented in controlling her magic.

"Magic!" the little girl giggled, surprising her older companion. "La-la-la-la-la lamamamama magic! I good at that. Mummy saids so."

Harry shook his head softly. So her mother was a witch as well. This jolted something in Harry's head and he nearly hit himself in stupidity. "Er... what's your name, honey?"

"Wrose," The girl said, clambering to her feet.

"Rose, okay, I'm Harry. Do you know where your mum is?"

She nodded, rather somberly for a toddler. "Dis way." Rose grabbed his hand with her tiny one and attempted to pull him to the yellow house to their left.

"Okay, okay, okay, I'm coming," Harry pocketed his wand and stood, cautiously following her to the door of the house. Knocking three times, Harry waited, with baited breath, for the door to open.

Thankfully, there were resounding footsteps through the small home and the screen swung open, pushed by a kind-looking older woman with greying brown hair. "Oh, Rose!" She cried, flinging herself to her knees and embracing the toddler. Harry stood awkwardly as Rose and her mother embraced.

"Goodness, we were so worried!" The woman said, looking up at Harry with pure joy in her eyes. "She's such a little wanderer. Likes to go everywhere by herself. A lot like her mum, this one is!" Harry was first taken by her old accent. It wasn't quite like the Australian ones he was accustomed to hearing from the natives, but instead, it sounded... More familiar.

"Hang on," Harry said, blinking. "You aren't... er, her mum?"

The older woman straightened and laughed, flattered. "Oh, dear boy, no. She's my granddaughter, actually."

Weird, Harry thought, idly, as he watched Rose become reacquainted with her grandmother. Her mum must be really young and–

Suddenly, an all too familiar voice rang out behind them. "H–Harry?"

Hermione's POV

Hermione greeted her neighbor, Mr. Kirkwald, and turned onto her dusty street. It had been a long day and WICA and she was tired. A strange group of Europeans called the Shadowend had been wreaking havoc lately and the Ministry of Magic had its paws all over the case, saying they were going to send Aurors in, etc, etc. It was all incredibly annoying.

Opening the gate to her parent's house, Hermione wiped her unruly hair out of her face and sighed. Her bones ached. It felt like it had been a long time since she had truly taken break. Three years, actually. Since that night...

For one long moment, Hermione allowed herself to image Harry was here, at her door, saying that Ginny had been a mistake, that the wedding was off, that he was here, for her, now. Of course, logically, that would never happen. Harry didn't admit to mistakes, and he certainly didn't beg. It was something she had always admired about him. Even in the face of death, he didn't beg.

Sighing heavily, Hermione pulled out her key, surprised to see the door already open. Her mother was there, talking to a young, jet-black haired man. Confused, Hermione blinked several times, thinking she was still within a fantasy.

"H–Harry?"

He spun around, a hand going over his eyes to shield from the bright sun.

"Hermione?" And then, his arms were around her, and she was hugging him back, and, merlin, this couldn't be realm it was too perfect, it was too much like she had imagined.

"I can't believe I found you... I mean..." He paused, pulling back from her. "Hang on... You live here...?"

"Mummy!" Rose waddled up to Hermione, her little arms flailing wildly.

"Rosie!" Hermione picked her daughter up, cuddling her in her arms lovingly.

"'Mummy?'" Harry asked, his voice hoarse? "Mum–"

And then, something happened that Hermione had seen only when he was under attack.

Harry fainted.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry's POV

Harry came to slowly, as if he was resurfacing from being underwater for a long time. The voices around him were muffled, even when his eyes first blinked open.

"I know, mum!" A voice was saying, agitated. "Look, if you could just–"

"Hermione?" Harry interrupted groggily, one hand going to his aching head. " 'S that you?"

There was a blur of images before his eyes, brown and gold and white flashing, so he closed them again. But he could smell her, closer to him now. They hadn't been this close since–

"Oh, good, Harry, you're awake, we were worried–" She was saying, sounding out of breath. "How do you feel?"

"Like shite," Harry groaned back, not attempting to censor himself around her. He strained his eyes open again and found Hermione hovering over him, her hair hanging about them as if in a curtain. "Had an odd dream... wait... how did I...?"

Hermione pulled back and smiled slowly. "Shh... I think you should lay down and rest for a bit, okay? We can talk later."

"But... no, no, I'm fine." Harry struggled to get up, pushing past Hermione's worried arms. He sat up, realizing he was in an unfamiliar pink and white themed room. It had a bigger bed in the corner, which Harry now occupied, and a smaller, crib-like bed on one wall.

"Oh yeah," Harry breathed. "We have a lot to talk about."

Hermione looked grim. "Let's go for a walk, okay?

They walked in silence down the dusty roads for a few awkward minutes. Harry's head still pounded as he tried to find a way to speak to this person he felt he hardly knew.

"Please tell me I've got this all wrong, Hermione." He pleaded quietly.

"Well, I can't say what's in your head, Harry," she began, almost chiding him. "But..." Hermione sighed. "I can guess. And yeah, Rose is my daughter."

Harry's stomach dropped. "Is that why you ran away? Because you were..."

Hermione peered at him curiously, as if sizing him up for an important job. "Sort of. I really did have to find my parents, if that's what you're asking."

Harry took a long breath. "No, that wasn't quite what I was asking, Hermione." He whirled on her, and took both her shoulders in his hands. "Hermione, that night..."

Hermione's POV

"Is over, Harry. Don't worry about it." She said, shrugging him off and equally avoiding his gaze.

Her stomach flipped for at least the fourth time since they had begun their conversation. Merlin, why did he have to show up now? Scratch that, why did he have to show up at all? She bit her lip and shook her head angrily.

"You should leave here, Harry." She told him after a moment. Closing her eyes and blinking against the hot sun, Hermione took a deep breath. "Please."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his expression a mix of anger and confusion and sadness. No, not sadness, she realized, but fear.

"Tell me, at least," He was saying, his voice bitter. "Tell me the truth. Is she..." he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing out of control. "Is she mine?"

"What does it matter?" Hermione screeched, all of sudden angry. "What the fuck does it matter who I've shagged? She's my daughter! Not anyone else's if I so chose it!"

"Well, you haven't given 'anyone else' much of a choice, have you?" Harry replied sarcastically, his voice also rising with anger. "I mean, for Merlin's sake, if Ron–"

Hermione laughed coldly. "Oh yeah, because I'd definitely shag _Ronald_ Weasley!"

Harry threw his hands up. "Got a boyfriend in Australia then?"

She blinked at him, then drew a long, audible breath. "No."

"I guess we can rule out one-night-stands, too?" He shot back quickly, nostrils flaring.

"I–" Hermione sank to the ground, her eyes watering. "Not all of them."

Harry stood still, towering over her. He gritted his teeth and, in a voice she had never heard before, spoke painfully. "So she's mine, then."

There was an eternity of silence between the two former friends before Hermione found the words she had been hiding away for three years.

"Yes, Harry. Rose is your daughter."

 _A/N: Dun dun duuuuuuunnnn. Some of you guessed it early and some of you I hope didn't. More explanation to come in later chapters. This one was really hard to write but I hope you enjoyed it. :) Thanks for reading! I love reading your reviews, as always!_


	7. Chapter 7

Harry's POV

"Yes, Harry. Rose is your daughter."

Harry's world froze around him. His throat constricted, his muscles tensed. His head pounded, and he would never be able to tell if it was from the fainting or the news.

Merlin, the _news._

"I'm a..." Harry felt his knees on the hard ground and realized he had collapsed. He tried to stand, tried to get back up, but it felt like the world was pressing him down into the floor. He was suffocating on his oxygen, and his eyes were going black around the edges.

"Holy shite. Holy... shite... I..."

Nearly five years of Auror training and he couldn't compose himself after a simple sentence.

"Come on, Harry, people are staring, get up." Hermione was whispering to him fiercely, her eyes glassy. "Please get up. Come on. Please."

He struggled against the heavy hair, his legs shaking. _This is not happening. This_ can't _be happening._

"Make it stop, please," he murmured, so she couldn't hear. He closed his eyes and pushed himself up.

"Let's go home," Hermione said slowly, grabbing his arm. "Let's _go,_ Harry!"

He was entirely frozen, his legs still shaky and arms quivering. His steps, when they finally came back to him, were unsure.

He tried to take a deep breath, even though his lungs were collapsing.

"I'm a– I've got a–..."

Unable to form the words _father_ or _daughter_ , Harry leaned on Hermione's arm and let her drag him down the road and into the house.

"Everything all right, dear?" A soft voice floated into Harry's consciousness from somewhere in the house.

"Yes, mum, fine!" Hermione said back. Harry felt a hand at him back as he was numbly guided up the stairs to the first door on the left.

"Okay," Hermione gasped, wheezing. "Let's talk."

Hermione's POV

"Yes, mum, fine!" She called to her mother through gritted teeth, using all of her strength to push Harry up the stairs.

Guiding the lifeless man to her bedroom, Hermione pushed him onto the chair and stood back, briefly admiring her ability to get a fully grown and fully muscled man who was half a head taller than her up to the second floor.

"Okay," She said, taking a deep breath and sitting down opposite to him. "Let's talk." Harry did not respond, his eyes unfocused and directed at the floor. Sighing, she brought him a mug she kept at her bedside table.

"Here, drink this," Hermione held the glass to his lips, relieved when he took it with numb and shaky hands.

Falling back into the armchair across from him, Hermione waited for a few moments. Harry was looking out the window at the dark blue sky, the sun fading fast from the world.

"Can we talk, Harry?"

He didn't respond. It hardly looked as though he was breathing.

"I wanted to tell you..." Hermione began, her voice cracking. "So many times I wanted to..." She took a long breath. "I tried writing letters... It was never... the right time."

A low, hollow laugh filled the room. "Never the right time." he repeated slowly, turning to her. "It was never the right fucking time, was it." Harry stood, his eyes suddenly hard and focused, and he advanced on Hermione.

She stood too. In all her years of knowing him, she had never seen him filled with such obvious rage. Not even when Sirius died. "Harry, please, let me explain–"

"Explain?" The mug dropped out of his hand and shattered to the floor. "You've had plenty of time to explain." He shook his head, and took another step towards her. "Three years, Hermione. Three years, and you never... You never thought it would be nice to tell TO TELL ME I KNOCKED YOU UP?!" Hermione took a step back, wincing at his crude euphemism. Harry was yelling now, his face red and his eyes wild, and she found that her heart was in her throat and her eyes were watering.

"I had a right to know." He whispered dangerously, now inches from her face. "I had a right to know that I'm... a... a..." He shuddered, and his legs seemed to collapse under him. Harry fell to his knees, holding himself and shaking.

"Harry!" She gasped, rushing to him. Tears were leaking out of his normally bright emerald eyes.

"I"m supposed to be able to trust you, Hermione," he told her grimly, not meeting her worried hazel eyes. "But you've lied to me. And this..." He gestured helplessly to the crib tucked in the corner of the room. "This ruins... everything."

"I know..." she bit her lip. "But this is why I kept it from you– I couldn't... I would never..." Hermione shook her head helplessly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry." Harry spoke the word as though it were a foreign one. He shook his dark curls fervently. "No. You don't get to just say you're sorry."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "But Harry–"

"It's too late to be sorry."


	8. Chapter 8

Harry's POV

Harry Potter was trying to breathe evenly.

He was trying, really, he was.

Sitting on a stool at the tiny pub in Mackay, Harry downed another shot of amber liquid, but it didn't make him feel any better.

He ran a hand over his face, as if massaging it, and he closed his emerald eyes. _Breathe, Harry,_ he told himself. _Breathe._

But his nerves were shot, his hands shaking, and his breath was not coming, except for in short gasps.

Slapping a galleon on the table, Harry stumbled out of the pub and into the dusty streets. He swallowed blinking against the moonlight, and realized he had nowhere to go. Groaning inwardly, Harry blinked away a stray tear (which was from the dust in his eyes, he told himself), and willed his legs to move. Currently, they felt like they were stuck in wet cement.

But move where? He couldn't go back to that damn house, and he had nowhere else to stay.

"Harry?" A timid voice sounded near him.

"Bugger off, Hermione." He told her, without giving her so much as a glance.

"But–"

"Don't bloody tell me you're sorry!" He said, raising his voice so that stranger stared at him in the purple night. "Just..." He sank to his knees. "Don't."

There was a silence. The strangers. Perhaps realizing they had nothing left to see, moved on down the street.

For some reason, Harry was suddenly filled with purpose. He stood, and began to move down the street with intention.

"Where are you going, Harry?" Hermione asked, her shorter legs struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"I'm going to be staying with you for a while." He said.

Hermione was clearly dumbfounded. "What?!"

"I'm going to be staying with you for a while."

"Yes, I bloody well heard you, but..." She paused. "Why–"

"One!" Harry said, rounding on her, his nostrils flaring. "Because I have no where else to go. Two, because I now have a bloody daughter I've got to take care of that you've hid from me for three years, so, three, you owe me!" He was up in her face now, their noses nearly touched. His eyes narrowed. "I can't even look at you." Harry spat, his knuckles white. He turned around and began walking again, faster this time.

"You don't have any responsibility here!" Hermione called, her voice low and dangerous.

Harry nearly screamed, he was so frustrated. "I won't have my daughter growing up without a father!"

"Rose doesn't need a father." Hermione shot back.

"Don't tell me about not needing a father!" Harry's face was contorted in rage. "You have parents! You have a family!"

"And so does she!" She responded, her voice rising.

Harry took several paces forward. "And now, so do I." He told her quivering form. "And I don't abandon family."

They did not speak any further as they walked to the house.

Hermione's POV

The next day, Hermione woke early. She hadn't slept well, still seething from her argument with Harry. By the time they had gotten back, it was too late for any discussion. Hermione had directed him to the couch and tromped upstairs.

"Oh, Rosie." She said quietly to her daughter's sleeping form. "What am I doing?"

Rose's tiny fists curled and uncurled as she slept, a stuffed owl tucked under one arm.

Sighing, Hermione picked up her wand and made her bed with an effortless flick. She was in the middle of silently levitating clothes to their proper places in the room when a knock came at the door.

"Hermione, dear?" It was her mum. The doorknob turned and the older woman stepped quietly into the room. "Er, I'm not sure if you are aware of this, dear, but... there appears to be a man sleeping on our couch?"

Hermione blanched. She had forgotten to come up with an excuse for Harry being there at all. "Erm, yes, I know, Mum." She said, evasively, trying to think of a good reason for Harry to be there.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to tell me why he is here?"

"He's, erm..." It suddenly hit her. "A Ministry of Magic employee! He didn't have anywhere to stay..." She trailed off lamely.

"Do you know him, Hermione?

"What? Uh, no." She said, much too quickly. "I mean, yes, I know him, but only because of work. I don't really _know_ him." Hermione added, her heart in her throat.

"Hm," was all her mother said, her lips pursed in a thin line. "Alright. Well, would he like to stay for–"

"No!" Hermione cried quickly. "He's leaving first thing. In fact, could you start Rose's breakfast and I'll go wake him? Very important business he has to attend to, I'm sure!"

Her mum nodded slowly, although her eyes were narrowed in disbelief. "Yes, alright."

Hermione swallowed hard, bid her mother goodbye, and left her room. _That did not go well,_ she thought to herself as she flew down the stairs, determined to get Harry Potter out of her house.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry's POV

"You have to leave."

"Wha–" Harry sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. With his left hand, he reached over and grabbed his glasses. Jamming them on his face, Harry realized Hermione was standing over him, holding his jacket. "Good morning to you, too." He replied, raising one eyebrow. "What's up?"

"You have to leave my house. Now." She repeated, more forcefully this time. "My parents are asking questions."

Harry threw the paltry covers off of him. "Let them ask. Maybe you should tell the truth, for once, hm?"

Hermione sent him daggers with her brown eyes. "Very funny, Harry. Now get up and leave. Before I do something really stupid."

Harry shrugged his jacket onto his broad shoulders and sighed. "I think we've been over this, Hermione." He frowned. " _I don't abandon family._ "

"Harry, you've got to understand that this is more complicated than that!"

"How could it be?" Harry shot back. "You tell the truth or you hide from it."

Hermione grabbed his arm. "Be quiet!" She sighed, looking at him, as if looking through him. "Would you have done it, if I had told you, then?"

Harry shook his head, confused. "Done what?"

"Don't be daft, Harry." Hermione responded. "If I had told you…. Would you have dropped everything and come to be Rose's father? Would you have given up Ginny and being an Auror and instead been a dad?"

Harry found himself frowning. He honestly didn't know what he would have done, had he been given the chance. _But she didn't give me the chance,_ he reminded himself. _So none of this matters._ "I'll make a deal with you, Hermione." He said, through gritted teeth. "You tell me why you did it, really why you did it, and I'll consider leaving."

Hermione gaped at him. "I've told you."

"I've known you long enough to know when you're lying." He snorted. "You can't fool me."

Hermione seemed to be weighing her options. "Fine." She said, her voice wavering. "We have a deal."

Hermione's POV

Her stomach was in her throat as they walked along the deserted park lane. Here it was, the moment had come for her to truly open up to her former best friend, to her one-time lover, to the father of her child.

The ebony haired wizard stood next to her as they strolled in utter silence, but there was an expectation in the way her walked, the way he glanced at her every few seconds.

"I wanted to tell you," Hermione began very quietly, clearing her throat. "I wrote so many letter while I was pregnant that I never sent."

"That's the explanation you already gave me, Hermione." Harry grunted back, his voice low and dangerous. "I want the real one."

"That is the real one!" Hermione protested. "Well, it's part of it."

"So tell me all of it!"

She cleared her throat again and allowed them to take several more paces in complete silence. "That night…." She started again, her voice a gossamer thread. "You said it was a mistake. For you." He did not respond to this, but she did not expect him to. "But for me…" a long, deep breath. _Just do it, Hermione. Go._ "For me, it was the best night of my life."

Hermione heard his sharp intake of breath. "Wh-what?"

She swallowed, refusing to look at him. "For me… it was the best night of my life because… I was… in love with you."

She felt, rather than really witnessed, his shock. He stopped walking, and she did too.

"How long?" Harry asked her finally.

"Years, Harry. Maybe since we met. I don't know." Each word carried the weight of a thousand emotions, for her. Maybe for him, too. "Please, just let me… try to explain.

"I loved you. All through school, I loved you. And I… I didn't want you to think I was like Ginny, or the other girls who fawned over you, because you were Harry Potter. I loved Harry, my Harry. And I watched you date Cho and Ginny with a fat smile on my face while I cried into my pillow at night. Because…" She bit her lip and smiled ruefully, blinking away tears. "I just wanted… you to be happy, Harry. I would kill for that smile of yours. It sounds so stupid, to say it now, but god, I loved you so much it hurt… and…" Hermione was crying now, staring up at the early morning sky. A bird flew over them, singing merrily. "So that night, when we both got drunk, god, it was perfect because I almost thought it was real. That I would wake up and you would be mine." She laughed hollowly. "How pathetic does that sound? Me, mooning after you? But you were... different, Harry. I felt like we matched, two broken pieces finally coming together. So when I knew I was pregnant… I couldn't get rid of it. I couldn't do it. I tried– I made an appointment, Harry!– but I couldn't go through with it. And I knew you were with Ginny… and I knew you were happy… and I knew I would destroy that. Because even if… even if I got rid of her… it would never be the same between the three of us. And I thought I might… rip you two apart. And I just wanted you to be happy, Harry– in ignorance, I know!" She sunk to her knees, sobbing, begging. "And I'm sorry I was selfish, but I just thought– god, I just thought that if I couldn't have you… I would still have that part of you! And as long as you never found out… I'm so sorry, Harry, please forgive me! Please."

A/N Thanks so much for all the reviews. I pretty much have this story all mapped out and I hope you like it. So what do you guys think? Should Harry forgive Hermione? Also, I would suggest listening to the song "Satisfied" by Lin-Manuel Miranda from Hamilton. I got a lot of inspiration from that song for Hermione's "monologue". Love you guys!


	10. Chapter 10

Harry's POV

Hermione was there, sobbing in front of him, and Harry felt his resolve collapse. There was too much history there, too many memories, too much responsibility, for him to be able to ignore her. He kneeled beside her, gently wrapping his lengthy arms around her much smaller form.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... oh, Merlin, what have I done..."

"It's okay," he heard himself saying. "Okay. It's okay. It's okay... it's okay."

And they sat there, Hermione against Harry, holding each other, for a long, long time.

* * *

There was a dry silence as they walked back to the house. An acute feeling that nothing had been solved, nothing had been fixed, and yet, things between them had changed. They were partners, now. Not friends or lovers, but partners. _We have a job to do,_ Harry thought to himself rather grimly. _Whatever life we may have had... Whatever choices we made..._ He glanced at his companion. _It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters now is raising our daughter._

Harry wondered vaguely if Hermione felt the same way, but decided that, too, didn't matter.

When they reached the house, Rose waddled out to them, embracing Hermione in a way Harry was still not used to. He swallowed, his throat dry.

"I have... I have a few letters to write," He said, more to himself than to her. Hermione looked up at him and nodded slowly, her eyes still red but understanding.

Harry opened the door to the house and trudged up the stairs to a room her assumed to be the study. The late morning light filtered cheerily through the large bay window, contrasting his rather dark mood.

Pulling a piece of parchment and waiting quill from the oak table, Harry rubbed his tired eyes and dipped the feather into the ink bowl. Hovering it over the paper, he blinked several times and watched the black ink slip down the quill and blot onto the paper. He closed his green eyes and sighed.

Fluttering them open, Harry once again dipped his quill in ink and scratched it across the parchment with renewed strength.

 _Dear Ginny,_

 _There's something I have to tell you._

* * *

Four hours later, when lunch had long come and gone and Harry's stomach was growling insistently, he still had yet to write another line. Hermione found him hunched over the desk, parchment crumpled around him as he discarded idea after idea.

"Harry," She began quietly, entering the room.

He lifted his head tiredly. "What do you want, Hermione?"

She seemed to shrug this off, and set a white platter of cheese, bread, olives, and a small mug of tea on the table next to him.

Harry found himself laugh hollowly. "So, what? Is this life now?" His fingers hovered over the food, a peace offering he didn't want to take. "You're my little housewife who cleans and cooks for your hardworking husband?"

Hermione brows furrowed deeply, and Harry immediately regretted what he had said. "Look," he began, but she cut him off, her eyes fiery and fierce.

"Forget it," she told him hotly. "I'm going out. Enjoy your food."

And, just like three years earlier, she was gone.

Hermione's POV

Hermione's phone buzzed in her pocket. Cara had texted her back.

 _B right there,_

 _-Cara_

Biting her lip, Hermione looked around the nearly empty cafe. It was 4 o'clock, the sun high and hot in the sky. She closed her eyes, hoping when she opened them, this whole mess might go away.

Of course it did not.

"Mia!"

It was Cara's unmistakable bubbly tone. It did not matter to Cara Barclay how loud she was, and it did not matter how many times Hermione had told her "Mia" was not a nickname she wanted.

"Hermione is far too long," Cara had explained after calling her Mia for the first time. "You don't mind, do you?"

 _At least she doesn't call me 'Mione... Like Harry and Ron used to..._

Hermione shook her head vehemently and rose from her chair to greet her friend. After kissing her twice on each cheek (it was very French, and Cara adored the French), the two friends sat across from each other at the checkered table.

"So," Cara laid her manicured hands across the table, gently grasping Hermione's in her own. "What was so important tha' you jus' had to see me righ' away?"

Hermione withdrew her hands, not quite ready for the comforting touch. She took a deep breath. "It's about Rose..."

"Rose? Is she alrigh'? 's somethin' wrong?" The chair squeaked loudly as Cara pushed it back across the floor and stood. Her hands clenched into fists. "Wha's going on, Mia?"

"Shh!" Hermione stood to, pulling her companion back down. "She's fine, I promise." Cara's body relaxed instantly, and Hermione felt a surge of affection for her daughter's Godmother. "You didn't let me finish. It's Rose's father."

"Father?" Cara shook her head uncomprehendingly. "You mean that Ron guy?"

Hermione winced slightly. "Not exactly..." she frowned, trying to decide how to phrase all of what she needed to get off of her chest. "I always said it was Ron... my school sweetheart, you know, and that he didn't want her so... I left."

Cara nodded. She was vaguely familiar with this story.

"Well... I lied. It wasn't Ron. It was Harry."

Cara's blonde eyebrows furrowed. "Harry... You mean, Harry... tha' Harry?!"

Hermione swallowed and nodded very slowly.

"Merlin," Cara said. "Harry Potter is the dad of your kid? Isn' he gettin' married?"

"Yes."

"And you have 'is kid?"

"Yes."

"And he didn' wan' her?"

"Er... not exactly."

Cara raised one eyebrow. "I think I need the whole story, Mia."

Hermione nodded, and looked down. "It was Harry's 18th birthday. He and Ginny... you know, his fiance... they were in a rough patch, and I decided to take him out for a party... he wanted to go to a muggle bar. So we did... and we got really drunk..." She gulped. "And... and we... shagged."

"And then what?"

Hermione felt her stomach drop, and she closed her eyes briefly. "So after... I guess we sort of... tried to forget... and I came here to find my parents just a few weeks later. And I was here, for a few weeks... And then I found out I was pregnant and... I... didn't tell him."

Cara let out a tiny gasp, her eyes narrowing. "You didn't tell 'im he got you pregnant? For how long?"

Hermione looked away, her eyes watering. "Until yesterday, when he showed up at my doorstep."

Cara stood, the chair once again screeching across the linoleum. "YESTERDAY?" She bellowed, causing the owner of the cafe to stare at them oddly. She lowered her voice considerably, leaning across the table. "He's here?"

Hermione nodded, and continued to explain for the better part of the hour. How Harry showed up, his anger, their continuous arguing, and their tenuous, unspoken agreement.

Throughout the conversation, Hermione kept taking quick glances at Cara's face, but it was unreadable.

"Wow." She said when she finished. "Tha's... a lot to take in, Mia."

Hermione wiped a stray tear from her eyes. "I know what I did was wrong, Cara... but how could I end the rest of his life? I just hoped he would never find out... honestly, I don't even know why he's here!"

An odd expression floated across Cara's face, but it was quickly gone. Her face set in a grim line. "Alright. So what are you gonna do about it?"

"I don't know!" Hermione said, burying her head in her hands. "I'm so confused, Cara." She paused. "I think I still love him."

"Merlin, Mia!" Her companion shook her ruby curls. "You need to go back and care for your daughter. You need to forget about old Harry. This Harry is getting married. He needs to tell his fiancee and you need to work this out. Okay?"

"You make it sound so simple," Hermione scoffed, raising her eyebrows slightly. "But you're right. I have to try and fix this."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. I've been busy and I have an outline for this story but I don't want to take it too fast. A lot still has to be worked out till we get to the next big "drama" if you will, and I'm working on the best way to get there. :) Thank you for all the support!

Harry's POV

When Harry came downstairs an hour later, Hermione was still gone. His chest ached, he wanted to apologize. Frowning at himself, he pushed his way past the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear Hermione's mother in the kitchen, laughing, and, in the small living room to his left, Hermione's father singing just slightly off-key.

He sighed, his brows furrowing. _This could have been us,_ he thought, almost mournfully. _We could have had this... if only you had told me..._

But for the first time, Harry considered what he might have done, three and a half years ago, if Hermione had told him. He closed his eyes, imagining.

" _I'm... pregnant, Harry. And... It's yours."_

 _Harry was cleaning his broomstick– no, he was filling out his application to the auror programme. And she was... happy? No, she was crying. She would have been devastated._

" _What do you want to do?"_

 _She would have blinked. "Do?"_

" _Well... we're not... I mean... We're not... going to keep it, are we?"_

 _He saw her face growing cold, hard like stone. Her hand touched her stomach. "Of course not," she would have responded, flatly. It was like something had shattered in her. "I'll... I'll make a doctor's appointment, then."_

Harry opened his eyes, his stomach churning. Is that really how it would have gone? Would they just have pretended it didn't happen? That they didn't have sex? He frowned at this thought for some reason.

"Hello, uh, Harry, right?"

Harry spun towards the voice. It was Mr. Granger, holding Rose in his arms. Harry felt his stomach twist as he looked at his daughter. She was a spitting image of him, really – the jet black hair, the bright emerald eyes. He should have seen it immediately.

Automatically, Harry held out his hand and watched the Granger patriarch struggle to reciprocate while holding the 3 year old.

"Oh," He said flatly, withdrawing his arm. "That was... Foolish of me. Sorry."

Mr. Granger chuckled a little. "Don't worry, son." He placed Rose down and she ran to Harry wobbly.

"Hi," she said, looking up at him with bright green, catlike eyes and tugging on his trouser leg. Harry pulled away a little jerkily, unsure how to treat the girl. Should he ask her to call him dad? Was father more appropriate? What had Hermione told Rose about their rather complex relationship?

"Er..."

"Come sit with us, won't you?" The older man continued, turning into the blue and white themed living room. He settled on the teal two seater couch and gestured clumsily across from him. Harry swallowed hard and followed him into the room, with Rose trailing behind him.

"It's funny, you know," Mr. Granger said, watching Harry sit down carefully. "It's almost as if she knows you. You know, she's not so good with new people. But you..."

Harry cleared his throat nervously. _So Hermione hasn't told him,_ he thought bitterly. _Awesome. I guess that's what I get for yelling at her earlier..._ Guilt panged his heart. "Erm..." He ran a hand through his hair.

"You're her friend from school, right?" Mr. Granger continued, much to Harry's relief. "The... the good one."

"Pardon?" Harry asked, confused.

Hermione's father looked uncomfortable. "Ah..." He curled and uncurled his hands. He looked at his granddaughter. "Go find Nana, love, won't you?" He patted her on the back, nearly pushing her into the hallway that would lead to the kitchen.

"But Papa!" Rose protested, her face twisted into a frown. Her grandfather responded with a strained look.

"Please, Rose."

Grumpily, Harry watched his daughter gather her doll into her arms and waddle grumpily into the kitchen.

Mr. Granger crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Would you like some tea, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, his curiosity piqued by his companion's strange actions.

"No, I suppose not," The older man nodded knowingly. "I don't know what Hermione has told you... about..." He jerked his head to the kitchen.

"Hermione hasn't told me anything," Harry lied quickly.

"Well..." He shifted in his seat and leaned forward. "What we know is that Rose's father broke my baby's heart. When she came to us... pregnant, alone... she wanted to... to get rid of it. She didn't know if she wanted a reminder of him."

Harry felt his heart race faster. "Him?"

Mr. Granger's face turned dark. "He was her school sweetheart. He knocked her up, and didn't want the kid. A real ass."

"Ron?!" Harry frowned at the mention of his best mate. "She told you... I mean, Ron did that?"

"Yes. Him."

Harry felt rage bubbling inside him. How could anyone ever do that? Nevermind Ron never did... never would, of course... but how could it be a plausible enough story for the Grangers to believe unless it actually happened? But then... hadn't his own imagination led him to the exact same scenario?

Mr. Granger continued before Harry could further acknowledge his own hypocrisy. "It was Hermione's mother who convinced her to keep the baby." He swallowed. "We always wanted another kid, you know? But... Hermione's birth was difficult. I'm sure she's told you about that..."

Harry shook his head, further confused.

Mr. Granger smiled ruefully. "I almost lost my wife the day that Hermione was born. After... we couldn't have anymore children. My wife's body just... couldn't take it. And I think she didn't want Hermione to lose her chance as well..."

"Was Hermione okay?" Harry interrupted quickly, his fear for his former best friend overwhelming his manners.

The older man studied Harry carefully. "She was fine. You really care about her, don't you?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I–"

"Harry? May I speak to you upstairs?" Hermione's voice saved him from answering the awkward question and he stood quickly.

"Er, it was nice to talk to you, Mr. Granger," Harry said, wiping his hands on his jeans and standing up.

Harry's companion gave him a look that he couldn't quite comprehend, but only said, "and you, young man."

Harry shook off the odd feelings he was getting from Hermione's father and followed Hermione up the stairs.

Hermione's POV

"I see you and my father are getting along," Hermione commented as the pair headed up the stairs. "That's good." She turned the knob to the third door on the left. "You should talk about football, if you like. He likes Manchester City..."

"Hermione?" Harry said, close behind her. "You're chattering."

She spun around, realizing how close they were, realizing that if she rose just a few inches her lips would meet his.

"Sorry," Hermione managed to say, her mouth nearly watering. "I'm just..."

"Nervous?" He finished for her.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Hermione swallowed, remembering her conversation with Cara. "We need to talk."

He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah we do."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I wanted to say–"

At the same time, Harry began to speak. "I thought you should know that–"

And then together:

"I'm sorry."

Hermione blinked, her mind whirring. "You... what?"

Harry sat down on the chair by the door. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I've been a jerk... and... I think you were right." He laughed a little. "As usual."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "But... What?"

Harry smiled, and Hermione was swept up in the beauty of his smile. "That night may have been a mistake... but... It was my mistake too. I took advantage of you."

"Took advantage of me?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I know I can be dense, 'Mione, but I'm not a complete idiot. I had a feeling you... liked me as more than a friend."

"What?!" Hermione felt her knees buckle. "You... You're lying!"

"I'm not," Harry responded. He got off the chair and knelt beside her. "I didn't ever really think about it... or really acknowledge it... But Gin and I were fighting that night. It was..." He swallowed, his face looking pained. "It was really bad."

"Harry... you never told me..."

"We're both very strong willed. We have our opinions and... we struggle to compromise."

"But... you love her, don't you?" Hermione regretted asking the question before the words even left her lips.

But there was no hesitation on Harry's part. "Yes, I do. But..." He shook his head several times. "It doesn't matter. After that fight... I used that night... I used what I knew... I used _you._ And I'm not proud of it."

Hermione was lost for words, and she simply blinked at him as she tried to comprehend what he was saying.

He continued. "I know it was awful of me... Merlin, I know. I was selfish, and stupid, and just... I don't know, Hermione. I was so angry at Ginny, and you looked so perfect... well, the alcohol didn't help." He paused. "Ginny called me the next morning, you know. That's why I left before you woke up. She apologized. And I was so angry at myself for what I had done to you that I thought you'd never forgive me. I thought I would never have you again. So I forgave her."

"But... why did it matter if I forgave you? I mean... What does that have to do with you getting back together with Ginny?

Harry's hands clasped together. "I know I was drunk, 'Mione, but I don't just have sex with someone because I can. I... there's too much of an emotional connection there for me. After that night..."

He looked at her, those emerald green eyes boring, seemingly, into her soul. "I fell for you that night, Hermione."


End file.
